


hair like a flame and eyes like the sky

by zeitgeistofnow



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Post-Canon, but lbr if you're still reading w359 fic now u don't care, haircuts n feelings, haven't listened to w359 since the finale, mentions of thanksgiving, minkowski👏is👏a👏butch👏biseuxal👏woman, so they might be a bit ooc, this fandom is dead but i needed fluff n lesbians and what other fandom has a quality wlw ship???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 11:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitgeistofnow/pseuds/zeitgeistofnow
Summary: lovelace helps minkowski cut her hair. she always has, and the buzz of the clippers in her hand is… something. nice. something she had control over, even back on the hephaestus, when she didn’t have control over anything else. it was harder when they were in space, because the shards of shorn hair would float around the station’s bathroom, getting in her eyes and mouth. now they just float to the linoleum tile in the shitty apartment they’re renting.





	hair like a flame and eyes like the sky

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Small Favour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12531952) by [frith_in_thorns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frith_in_thorns/pseuds/frith_in_thorns). 

Lovelace helps Minkowski cut her hair. She always has, and the buzz of the clippers in her hand is… something. Nice. Something she had control over, even back on the Hephaestus, when she didn’t have control over anything else. It was harder when they were in space, because the shards of shorn hair would float around the station’s bathroom, getting in her eyes and mouth. Now they just float to the linoleum tile in the shitty apartment they’re renting. 

Mikowski’s a ginger. Her hair is an incredible red-orange and she keeps in a crew cut- they have to cut it almost bi-monthly to keep it from getting too long. 

Lovelace looks forward to doing Minkowski’s hair more than almost anything else at this point, which she knows it pathetic.

Being back on earth isn’t all it’s cut out to be. 

_ january 17th, 2018. 1:43 PM _

They’re all still sorting things out. The apartment is new, in the worse side of Portland. The tiles are all chipped and the whole place smells just a bit musty, but it’s home now, and there’s no evil corporation breathing down their neck. They’re free, and so alone. 

Doug and Jacobi are somewhere else. They’d split almost as soon as the crew had gotten to earth. Lovelace can tell that not being with Doug is almost physically painful to the commander, but he texts them every few days to tell them he’s okay. It’s better she’s not with him, anyway, Lovelace consoles herself. 

Hera’s disappeared into the internet. They haven’t heard from her, but sometimes Doug’s updates reference her. Lovelace reads the messages out loud to Minkowski when they come and watches her pretend not to be jealous. 

Minkowski keeps herself busy, finding a job almost immediately as a bouncer at a nightclub downtown. She reads when she’s at the apartment, or cooks, or takes long walks through the city. She doesn’t talk to Lovelace, and Lovelace pretends she’s okay with that.

Lovelace doesn’t get a job- she sleeps. She sleeps 14 hours a day like she’s a high schooler on summer vacation, catching up on everything she didn’t get back on the Hephaestus. She sleeps because then she doesn’t have to think, because she hopes it’s easier on Renée to see her passed out on the pullout couch when she gets back from work than to see her waiting up for her. 

They don’t do that- they don’t wait for each other. They do things on their own now. 

Minkowski approaches her a few hours before she wakes up, a few hours before Minkowski leaves. The hours of cohabitation, Lovelace calls it in her head. 

Isabel is watching cat videos and making coffee. It’s a new iPhone, because Goddard was apparently paying them while they were up in space, and they were apparently paying them a lot. Isabel bought two rose gold ones, the newest ones she could find, and sent one to Jacobi. 

It’s bad coffee, because Isabel got out of practice while she was in space. 

Minkowski’s fully dressed. Lovelace is not, she’s wearing mens boxers and a sports bra. Both from Target. Minkowski’s dressed for work in a black t-shirt and dark jeans. She looks good, Lovelace notices, because she has eyes. Minkowski always looks good. 

Renée leans against the counter- plastic laminate, already covered in knife marks from past tenants. “I need some help,” she says, teeth grit.

Lovelace thinks it’s a bit upsetting how hard that is for her to say. “Okay,” she responds, “with what?”

Minkowski gestures up at her head. Lovelace goes through the possibilities: she needs glasses. Or a facial. Therapy, maybe, or she wants to buy makeup. All seems unlikely. Minkowski’s one of the butcher people Lovelace knows, which means a facial and makeup are out, and she’s too stubborn for therapy. “I need a haircut,” she says. 

Lovelace nods and pauses the youtube video. “Do you need a ride?” In addition to sleeping, Lovelace bought an old motorcycle. It only sorta works, because she bought it in the hope that she’d get the motivation to fix it up. It should work well enough to get them both to the salon, though.

“Why would I need a ride?” Minkowski looks irritated, which is how their conversations always work these days. 

“To get to a hair salon,” Lovelace says. She sips her coffee, trying to show that the commander’s frown doesn’t phase her. 

Minkowski shakes her head. “I thought you would keep doing it?” She sounds unsure. Isabel curses silently. 

“Yeah, sure.” She puts down her mug of coffee- it says  _ Goddard Futuristics  _ on it in blocky, orange text, because Lovelace is too lazy to buy a new mug and Minkowski doesn’t drink coffee at the apartment. 

They walk to the bathroom awkwardly, careful not to walk side by side but not wanting to follow or to lead. Lovelace stops at the linen closet, devoid of linens, to grab the razor. It’s in a black box, plastic, and it’s the same one they used in space. Brand name and battery powered. Lovelace grabs a pair of AA batteries too, just to be safe. By the time she gets to the bathroom Minkowski’s sitting on one of their dining room chairs and staring resolutely into the mirror. 

Isabel wraps the plastic-like sheet that came with the clippers around Minkowski’s neck. “Same haircut as before?”

Minkowski nods.

When she’s done she flicks the clippers off and stares into the mirror with Renée. 

“Thanks,” Minkowski says, and Lovelace nods, looking down and starting to put things away.

“No problem. What are crew-mates for?”

The other woman smiles, just a little bit, but it’s bitter. The smile of a survivor, and Lovelace mirrors her. 

_ march 31st, 2018. 8:25 PM _

It’s a routine, now. They usually do it days that Minkowski has off, so that she has time to shower and do everything else she needs to- generally just shower and go to bed, read for a while. It’s the closest thing to a responsibility Lovelace has. 

Minkowski’s sitting in an armchair across from Lovelace when she wakes up. Minkowski is in a ratty t-shirt and nice mens shorts. Lovelace is wrapped in cotton sheets and has sleep in her eyes. She blinks and rubs at them. “Hey, Commander.”

Minkowski smirks. “Captain. Glad you saw fit to wake up sometime today.”

“Had a late night,” Lovelace says. She reaches over to check her phone, swiping away notifications from apps whose notification privileges she hasn’t yet bothered to revoke. “What brings you here?”

“Will from the gym said my hair was getting long.” Minkowski makes a face at the mention of Will’s name- she’s making friends, but reluctantly. She’s started exercising regularly and she’s been getting to know the other regulars. Lovelace prefers to do her pushups at the apartment. Helps to avoid other people. 

“So I’ll cut it,” Lovelace says amiably. Her eye catches on a text from Jacobi, and she opens her messages. There’s a silence. 

_ nice seeing u,  _ Jacobi texted at 11:22 this morning.  _ doug says hi _

“Where were you last night?” Minkowski sounds genuinely interested. Lovelace glances up. Either of them trying to make actual conversation is rare, so Lovelace decides to play along.

“I went to the bar down the street with Jacobi.”

“You went to a gay bar. With Jacobi.” The conversation is beginning to feel like an interrogation. 

“Yeah,” Lovelace says. “Because I’m gay, and Jacobi is gay, and we wanted to go out.”

“Where was Doug?”

“Jacobi says he was at home.” Isabel shrugs. “You worried about him?”

Minkowski doesn’t say anything, just cocks an eyebrow at Lovelace. 

“Yeah, okay.” Lovelace sits up, stretches. “Wanna get to your hair? I’ll cut it if you sweep up afterward.”

Minkowski wrinkles her nose. “Provided you wash your sheets. I’ll pay for the laundromat.”

“It’s a deal.”

Lovelace dumps a cup of water on Minkowski’s head and she sputters up at Isabel. 

“What was  _ that  _ for?”

Isabel hands her a towel. “I looked it up. You’re supposed to get your hair wet before you cut it. Makes it easier.”

“You could’ve asked me to shower.” Minkowski looks irritated, but not  _ too  _ irritated. She wipes at her face with the hand towel, then tosses it onto the floor.

“You’re going to shower afterwards anyway, and we’re paying the water bill on just your salary.” Lovelace runs her fingers through Minkowski’s hair, trying to even out the dampness. “Also, this was quicker.”

“Mm.” Minkowski hums. Lovelace thinks she can feel her lean into Lovelace’s touch. “A little warning next time, though.”

“Sure, commander.”

_ august 12th, 2018. 5:57 AM _ __   
  


“Why are you still up?” Minkowski asks, bending down to untie her boots. It’s too hot to be wearing boots, Lovelace thinks, in a futile attempt to not focus on how tight Minkowski’s jeans are. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Lovelace pauses the episode of  _ Dear White People  _ she was watching.

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah.” Lovelace stretches. “That’s how it is, being undead, though.”

“While you’re up, d’you want to help me with my hair?” Minkowski trails her fingers down her scalp and Lovelace wishes that she could do that herself. Wishes she could nestle herself against Minkowski’s clavicle and run her hands over her newly buzzed hair.

“Sure. I’m going to make coffee first, so I don’t cut off your ear.” Isabel rolls out of the futon and stretches again, standing in the middle of the living room.

Minkowski gestures at a Starbucks cup on the counter. “One step ahead of you, captain.”

Lovelace raises her eyebrows. “Thanks.”

“So, where’s Koudelka?” Lovelace asks, slowly pulling the clippers up the nape of Minkowski’s neck. It’s something she’s been meaning to ask for months, but she just… hasn’t. Minkowski hadn’t volunteered any information, and Lovelace hadn’t asked until now. 

Renée stiffens imperceptibly. “Probably back in my hometown. He’s married.”

“Well, yeah,” Lovelace says, focusing on not nipping Minkowski with the vibrating blade. She’d downed the coffee Minkowski had given her, but her hands are still shaky. “You’re his wife.”

“No,” Minkowski says, “Married again. To someone else.”

“Oh.” Lovelace bites her lip and takes the clippers away to switch the guard. “That sucks.”

“I think I’m someone else at this point, anyway,” Minkowski says. “Not his wife anymore.” Lovelace glances into the bathroom mirror to see her face. It’s impassive, distracted. “We’re all different people than we were a few years ago. That’s how time works.”

Minkowski meets Isabel’s eyes in the smeared glass. 

“Some of us more than others,” Isabel concedes. “Me, for example. I’m literally a different person. Or Doug. He doesn’t even have the same memories. You’re different. Jacobi is. Trauma has a way...” She turns Renée’s head and buzzes past her ear. “But we’re still made of the same DNA that we always have been. Made of the same building blocks.”

“You should finish fixing up that motorcycle,” Minkowski says. “Our landlord is getting sick of it sitting in the garage. And it’d be something to do. You should get out more. With people other than Jacobi.”

“Maybe I will.” Lovelace brushes some stray hairs off the guard switches it with another. “Yeah.”

_ september 2nd, 2018. 6:32 AM _

“Tell your new girlfriend to get out of my  _ living room. _ ” Minkowski hisses. The woman in question looks bemused, half asleep and half-naked in the futon.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Lovelace says, and hands the woman- Penny, her name was, bright red box braids and a mole right below her collarbone- a cup of coffee. The Goddard mug. “And it’s my living room, too. In fact, it’s my bedroom.”

Minkowski walks over to Lovelace, grabs the front of her shirt. Minkowski is not taller than Lovelace, so the effect is slightly diminished, but Minkowski’s face is tantalizingly close to Lovelace’s, and her teeth are blindingly white, her eyes a stormy gray-green, like the sky before a tornado. “I don’t care. We need to talk about this, and she needs to leave.” Minkowski lets go of Lovelace’s shirt and turns on her heel, stalking back to the kitchen.

Lovelace sighs. Behind her, Penny is already pulling on her boots. “Hey, I’m sorry about that-”

“You should’ve said you had a girlfriend,” Penny says, and shrugs on her leather jacket. 

“She’s not my girlfriend. Just my…” Lovelace sucks on her teeth, thinking. “Roommate.”

Penny raises an eyebrow and slips out the door. “Thanks for last night, then. See you around.”

Lovelace waves to her back and shuts the door. Renée is waiting for her in the kitchen, making eggs. They smell really good, like cheese and onion and everything else you put in eggs. Lovelace inhales deeply before opening her mouth.

“What the fuck was that for?” She asks, bracing herself against the countertop. 

“I’m sick of having to meet a new girl every two days. It’s not the nicest thing to come home to,” Minkowski says. “Either get a steady girlfriend or stop having sex.”

“Neither of those sound plausible. We could just get a new apartment where I actually have a bedroom,” Lovelace suggests.

“We could,” Minkowski says, tapping at her lower lip with the handle end of the spatula, which is just distracting enough to be irking. Lovelace tightens her grip on the lip of the counter. “If you actually got a job.”

“It’s hard to get a job when you’re legally dead.”

“I managed.” Minkowski switches off the stove and scrapes the scrambled eggs onto a plate. 

“Are any of those for me?” Lovelace asks, stepping closer to Minkowski. Stepping closer means stepping very close, actually, because it’s a small kitchen. Close enough to see every individual freckle across the bridge of Minkowski’s nose.

“If you agree to stop bring girls back to the apartment.”

Lovelace leans against the fridge. “Why does it bug you so much, anyway?”

Minkowski puts the plate off eggs aside and mirrors Lovelace’s lean, slotting their legs together. She’s still in her bouncer uniform- tight, black t-shirt with the nightclub’s logo over her left breast. It’s a very tight shirt. “Why do you  _ think,  _ captain?”

_ Why  _ is their kitchen so small. 

Lovelace shrugs weakly and stands up straighter. “Your hair’s getting long. Want a trim?”

Minkowski crosses her arms. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Every time Lovelace has to touch Minkowski- to change the angle of her head, to steady her hands, to brush loose strands of red-gold hair away- it feels like an electric shock. Tiny, heart-stopping moments that Lovelace pushes through. She doesn’t meet Renée’s eyes in the mirror, and when she’s finished, she runs her hand over the top of Minkowski’s head. Her hair feels like the fur on a new branch, like a baby deer. Something new, with potential.

Something so unlike Lovelace. 

“Thanks,” Minkowski says. 

“It’s nothing,” Lovelace says, and then Minkowski is out of the chair and facing Lovelace. She’s half-sitting on the back of the dining room chair. They’ve been using the same dining room chair every time they’ve trimmed her hair, from a dining room set they’ve only eaten at once. Minkowski’s legs are on either side of Lovelace’s, one of her hands hooked on one of Lovelace’s belt loops. 

“You never answered me earlier,” she says, holding eye contact with Lovelace. Her eyes are clearer than before, more green than gray in the harsh light of the tiny bathroom. “Why do you think it bothers me, Isabel?”

“I don’t know,” Lovelace says, suddenly breathless. She swallows and takes a deep breath. “Why-”

And then Renée takes her chin in one hand and stands up, pressing Lovelace against the door, and they’re kissing, and Lovelace didn’t think this would happen, not really, but it is.

_ november 22nd, 2018. 1:22 PM _

Lovelace rubs at the tips of Minkowski’s ears, trails her fingers over the fuzz growing at the nape of her neck, pushes the longer part back from her face. “Hey, babe. Wake up.”

Minkowski mumbles something in reply, low in her throat. 

“C’mon, Jacobi and Doug are coming over in like, three hours.”

“Are they?” Renée sticks out her tongue and Lovelace laughs. 

She kisses her girlfriends forehead and pokes her bicep. “Yeah, it’s Thanksgiving. We spent like, four hours prepping last night, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Minkowski sits up and stretches. “You’re so bad at cooking.” she grins at Lovelace and gets out of bed. Pages through her shirts hanging in the closet, takes out a Hawaiian shirt with little sprigs of parsley printed on it. It’s not as stiff as most of her other shirts, and it drapes over her arm when she holds it up.

“Cute,” Lovelace says from the bed. “Where’d you get it?”

Minkowski shrugs. “I thought Jacobi would like it.”

Lovelace rolls out of bed and finds a tank top on her dresser. She never puts her clothes away like Minkowski does, just leaves them places and puts them on when she needs them. “Do you want a haircut?”

Minkowski’s hand automatically goes up to her flame-orange hair. “I-” She lowers her hand again, goes back to buttoning up her shirt. “I’m going to let it grow out a bit, actually.”

“Oh, really?” Lovelace buttons her shorts and walks over to Minkowski. “Leave the top few buttons unbuttoned. It looks better.”

Minkowski nods and straightens the shirt in the mirror. “I only used it as an excuse for you to- to talk to you after we got back to earth.” She turns and puts her hands on Lovelace’s hips and Lovelace leans in for a kiss.

Minkowski obliges, then leans back against the closet door. “And I don’t need that excuse anymore, I don’t think.”

Lovelace nuzzles against her shoulder. “You never did.”

“I like your hair,” Jacobi says later, over good mashed potatoes (courtesy of Minkowski) and abhorrent-to-passable stuffing (courtesy of Lovelace). “Very shabby chic. Is Lovelace that bad at playing barber?”

**Author's Note:**

> ive missed these girls... so muchhhhhhhhhhh 
> 
> comments and kudos make my world!!


End file.
